Come Josephine
by Crazy4Moony
Summary: Matt knows Mello didn't leave him - he knows one day Mello will come and fly him away in a submarine and it will be good. Because without Mello he can't be Matt - and if Mello doesn't fix him, he'll always be an empty body with no Mattie inside.


Come Josephine

**AN: For **my**paranoidbestfriend's birthday! (Although now he's Sickened By A Society Of Hate (or he was, last time I checked which was three minutes ago)) I hope you like it... I would've giftwrapped it, but when I explained to my mum that I wanted to giftwrap a story she stared at me as if I were insane TT. People just don't get me. Ah well. Imagine it strapped in a colourful ribbon! ****Oh, this is where I sing for you! Here I go: "Lang zal je leven, lang zal je leven, lang zal je leven in de gloria! In de glo-ri-a! In de gloria! Hiep, hiep, hiep, HOERA!" ****Heh. That's the Dutch bd-song for you my dear—yeah, I was singing for the computer. How retarded I am :D Love you Lots!**

Mello said everyone is who he is—and you can't change that. The only one that can change you is yourself. That would have been perfectly fine—could he just stop loving his best friend for ten minutes though, just _ten_ minutes. The fact that he _couldn't_, messed it all up again. But dammit, he was Matt, and the only one who could change Matt was Matt himself. Why did that sound like a lie? Because to him it was obvious that the only one that could change Matt was Mello. And was that so wrong?

Oh, but Mello did change him. He took all the little pieces of Matt and moulded them together, turning them in his hand to form one figure again—he did it every time Mattie-wattie broke. And every time he was just a bit different than before. Mello made him into something else again and again, folding and unfolding, editing and making Matt Matt—even if maybe by now he wasn't Matt anymore, and more like Mello's Matt, but Matt didn't quite mind being Mello's.

What bothered him the most was that Matt could never influence Mello's movements like Mello did with him. When they were together in the dark, Mello's fingers splaying over his spine—it was Mello who made him move, who made his back arch and his thighs quiver. It was never the other way around. And even though Matt didn't mind it at all, it was still a bit strange—made him _hurt_, just a little bit.

When they bathed together they always sat opposite of each other. Bathing time was for quiet moments, wherein they could just relax. Mello wouldn't say a thing—the door would be locked, and he would press one foot into Matt's legs.

_Matt had a blue submarine, and always moved it about in the air, in wide, fluent waves._

"_Come Josephine," he muttered softly, and carefully plunged the plastic in the water, pulling it out again. "In my flying machine," his voice bounced off the walls obscenely, and Mello shifted in the water. "Up she goes, up she goes."_

_The blonde tipped up an eyebrow, opening one eye slowly. He glanced at the redhead as he moved the device in the foamy water._

"_Why are you using the submarine?" Mello asked, pointing to all the toys by the side of the bath—admitted, most were Near's, but who cared? There were a couple of plastic mini-planes in the basket, with the rubber ducks._

"_My mum always used a submarine because we didn't have a plane." Matt explained_—and it was one of the things Mello never wanted to alter, because it was so _Matt_, that he just couldn't let it go.

It was in the little things Mello didn't change, that Matt defined his love for him. In the little rough edges that Mello left untouched. It were the memories Mello never changed—but sometimes Matt wanted him to change those especially, because it hurt, just a little bit.

_His hand weaved through the air, and Mello smiled at him. Their bare arms were touching and their hands were entwined, as they watched Matt's hand seal through the sky, blocking out some of the sun._

"_Come Josephine in my flying machine," he sang softly and moved his hand closer to Mello. "Up she goes, up she goes."_

Memories can't be erased, but sometimes Matt wished Mello could edit them—just to make them better, not to make them real, but to make them happy. Some memories tore him up from the inside, and he needed them to be gone. But Mello couldn't do that—he could only alter, not destroy. The fact that Matt knew Mello would gladly take them away if he could only made him love him more.

It were never the memories of his mother that hurt—it were those when he realised Mello knew all of him, had always been there, and could easily leave like his mum had. Just like...

"_Up she goes," when Matt couldn't sleep, Mello held him close. He sings in his ear, because he knows Matt, he helped Matt become Mello's Matt, and Mello knows what Matt needs. "Up she goes."_

_Somehow being in Mello's arms always feels like flying._

He hated how alone he was when Mello left. There was no one left to break him down and rebuild him, to the finest point of deemed perfection. No one to define the very core of his being—and perhaps that should've felt like freedom, but it never did. It felt like chains, because with Mello he didn't have to be afraid of who he was—he didn't need to be scared of change, because he was Mello's, and Mello made him Matt. Without Mello he was someone completely different. He was a stranger in a body that looked familiar, but wasn't the same. He didn't know who this person was, who he'd become, why he had changed so. Why Mello had let him. Why Mello had _left_ him, to become so undone.

In the dark his body now moved on its own accord—he was a piano lost in the middle of the game, a puppet without its player and he had never felt so empty before. No longer were there any signs that marked him finished. He was forever alone, and his skin was always bare, not the smallest symbol of ownership or belonging. He was left in a box down a dark alley—from now until forever waiting to be found and reclaimed, to belong in someone's arms again. To become whole—to be, Mello's Matt. To be Matt and nothing more, but even that was too much.

_What hurt the most was that he was never flying these days. And then suddenly there were Mello's cold toes pressed into the back of his calves—lewd to sleep by the hot water and he had a submarine that was a plane and if there was a voice singing he knew it'd be okay._

"_Come Josephine, in my flying machine," because one day Mello would really fly him away—they'd never stop, never stop. And he'd be Matt, really Matt like he'd never been before. And nothing would be as beautiful as Mello—because only Mello can change Mello and he does it all for the better. "Up she goes, up she goes."_

_One day he will be there and Matt knows, that'll be the day he finally becomes one again—now he is broken into a million pieces and it's up to Mello to fix him again. And he will. Soon—it still remains to be seen whether or not Mello can fix the whole of him, or only his soul._

**AN: so, this is done. Lala! I know I posted it four days too late, and I was gonna do it on Sunday but I slept until 4:35pm and I still had to make an entire powerpoint presentation of at least 15 slides and I was going insane. So yeah. Better late then never.**

**I know this was probably a bit OOC... a bit different—but I like it nonetheless.**


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